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Outside Anqing County, at the Fu family’s country estate…
A row of bamboo houses stood right beside the fields. The windows were pushed open to their widest, propped with wooden rods, letting the spring breeze and sunlight pour in.
Beyond the window, dozens of mountain peaks overlapped into layers of shadow. Inside, Lord Fu, long past the age of forty, already had hair with strands of white. Some said it was from writing too many tales of immortals and demons; others claimed that in his youth he had an affair with a female ghost and was drained of his vital energy. The stories were many and varied. But Lord Fu’s health was excellent, and he himself felt nothing unusual, as he entertained a guest he had only met that very day.
The guest was a young scholar, much like Lord Fu himself had once been.
“Hahahaha…”
Seated in a bamboo chair, Lord Fu threw back his head in laughter. “Sir, you misunderstand. Life is short, and no matter how long my years, how could I have personally encountered so many immortals and demons? Eight or nine out of ten of the stories in my books are things I heard while traveling to various places, from the mouths of others.”
“I see, that’s how it is!”
“Hahaha…”
“Even so, Lord Fu, your life is still extraordinarily remarkable. And the books you have written have enthralled and enchanted countless readers. To meet you in person is truly my great fortune.” The young scholar said this, then remembered a task given to him on the river, and added, “Oh yes, when I was traveling here by boat, I met a Daoist. He only gave the surname Song, said he was once acquainted with you, and asked me to pass along his regards.”
“An old acquaintance?...
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